ONE WEEK LATER
My heart sinks as I pull into the home for developmental disabilities where my mom resides. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen her so I’m making myself visit but I don’t fucking feel up to it.
It’s also been over a week since I’ve seen Katie and I know my bad mood is tied to that fact. I can’t believe she wouldn’t give me her number just because I’m not particularly fond of her friend who hacked me.
What a little brat.
She enjoys defying me.
I shouldn’t even be this into her. I know that she smokes pot— it was obvious that she was even doing it at the office— and that’s usually not my type at all. My upbringing was so chaotic that I had to teach myself strict discipline and mental clarity in order to not turn out like my poor mother. There’s no place for weed or other drugs in that scenario and there’s usually no place for women who do them.
But that hasn’t stopped me from fantasizing about Katie.
I know she liked how I kissed her and grabbed her ass but she wouldn’t let me do anything further. She wouldn’t even let me get her number when I rarely want womens’ numbers. What I usually want is for them to stop calling me but I want to call Katie so I can see her, and kiss her more and fuck her, but she won’t even let me.
She needs to be punished.
My cock gets hard just thinking about it so I try to focus on something else, since this isn’t the time or place. As I walk through the sterile, bright front doors of the home I try to take a tally of my business holdings and inventory.
My plastics company is doing well. The real estate holdings are good. It’s just this damn toy company and its lawsuit driving me nuts. I hope Asher and Ron can fix the problem for me.
My mind is soon inundated with numbers and details of my businesses, which are secure, concrete things I can always hold onto during times of emotional turbulence.
I didn’t get to where I am in life— billionaire CEO of several different companies— by letting distractions get in my way. I can’t believe how hung up I’ve been on this little, bratty girl.
No one has ever fucked with my head this way— for a long time, anyway. I haven’t let them. I’ve learned my lesson in the past.
“Damien!” My mom calls out, as soon as she sees me walk into what they call the “community living” center. She had been playing dominos with another woman.
I’m glad she’s lucid and recognizes me.
“Hi, Mom,” I tell her, giving her a hug. “Sorry it’s been a while.”
“It’s fine,” she tells me, patting the empty seat next to her. “Sit down and talk to me for a while. It’s always so nice to see you.”
“How have you been doing, Mom?”
“Just fine. I’ve been working on the books. They like when I do that for them.”
She closes her eyes and starts counting out loud.
“One, two, three, four, five, six…”
Then she squints up at the ceiling.
“Two hundred and nine, five hundred and sixty, eight hundred and four. Eight hundred and four and then what? Damien, why can’t I remember all the numbers?”
“It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her, squeezing her hands. “You can take a break from that work for right now. I’m sure you mind must be tired.”
“I do work hard all day,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’re such a nice and caring son to look out for me.”
I’m just glad she stopped counting. Sometimes when she’s in that state she can continue for hours.
I feel so bad that she thinks I take such good care of her when really I’m too fucking busy with my own life to stop by more than once a week lately.
“Hello, Mr. Hudson,” says her doctor, as he approaches me. I hadn’t seen him come in.
“Hi, Dr. Madison,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming out here to say hello to me.”
“Of course,” he says. “I enjoy visiting patients in the community living center and seeing how they’re doing. And it’s nice to see you here when I do. Your mom is always in great spirits after your visit.”
This only makes me feel even more fucking guilty. I guess he can tell by the look on my face because he adds, “Of course, there’s only so much any of us can do to affect her moods one way or the other.”
I know this. He’s told me this. But somehow, I still always feel responsible. As if I should be doing more. Ever since everything happened all those years ago, I’ve felt I’ve needed to make up the past to my mother.
“Has she been having good days?” I ask the doctor.
“Mostly, yes,” he says. “The numbers and the counting come and go but it rarely pre-occupies all her time like it used to. The new meds are helpful for that. As are your consistent visits, and of course the activities you bring her to do.”
“Thanks, Dr. Madison. That’s good to know.”
He nods and pats my mom’s shoulder and says, “You have a good day, Ms. Hudson,” before walking off.
I know that he’s probably just telling me I make a difference to make me feel better. But it does make me feel better all the same.
Speaking of activities, I pull a wooden box out of my pocket and set it on the table in front of my mom.
“Look, Mom,” I tell her, as I open the box. “I made this game for you.”
“Wow!” she says, as she spills the contents of the box out onto to the table. They are wooden pallets with holes in them, not incredibly different from the Dominos she loves to play with in her spare time— the ones she was playing with when I came in— except smaller and collapsible, so that she can carry this box with her wherever she wants to go.
“Each hole that is drilled into the block can represent an increment of ten, or one hundred, or one thousand,” I tell her. “Any number you want, really. You can stack them, or arrange them, to build larger combinations, or multiples. Like this, for example.”
I stack up ten blocks on top of each other.
“See? This entire stack here could represent one thousand. Or one million. Or ten. It’s up to you.”
“Cool,” she says, sounding like a small child, which she sometimes has the tendency to do.
She flicks them with her finger and laughs with glee as they all fall down. Then she begins stacking them up again, her face scrunched up in a mixture of concentration and joy.
The toys and games my company makes are usually made for kids but they work well for anyone with disabilities or mental issues. I’m always inspired to make new ones that my mom would like, and I get letters from parents and caregivers all over the world, telling me how much my products have helped.
“Each one is the number fifty-six,” she tells me, pointing at the stack of ten blocks she’s built. She stacks ten more beside them. “Now they equal one thousand, one hundred and twenty.”
“Good job, Mom,” I tell her.
I’m proud of her but I fear that the toy I’ve made is too easy for her. I’ll have to try another model, with irregularly spaced holes or that have high numbers written on them.
My mom’s mind is always really sharp when it comes to numbers, no matter what else may or may not be going on in there. I try to make challenging toys and games that keep her mind occupied so that she doesn’t get upset when I’m not around.
This one might be too simple but at least it’s a start to a new idea—the first one I’ve had in a while since this whole patent lawsuit started. Worrying about what would happen with the lawsuit— and how my truly meager toymaking company could afford to pay for me— was stifling my creativity and ingenuity.
But ever since I met Katie, I’ve felt more alive, more productive. I’ve finally been able to work out this new idea.
That’s it. I need to get Katie’s number and more than that as well. I’m not going to let anything stop me.
I’ll let her know that Ruby’s job is safe— but I can’t say the same for Katie’s heart, or mine either. I’ve never felt like this about a woman I haven’t even slept with. Hopefully I just need to get that out of my system and everything will return to normal.
I can start chasing other women again and get Katie out of my head. Or at best, she’ll be my pet for a while and then I can move on to the rest.
I’ll fool myself by thinking that, just like Dr. Madison fools me by saying I really make a difference in my mom’s moods or treatment.
I decide to go to Asher and Madilyn’s wedding and do whatever it takes to get with Katie Finnegan. I have never been one to let anyone’s “no” stop me, and I’m not going to start with hers.
“Okay mom, I have to get going,” I say, standing up and giving her a kiss on the head.
“See you later, crocodile,” she says, still enthralled in her game and obviously slipping out of lucidity.
Oh well, I think, smiling down at her. At least she knew who I was when I first got here. And at least she likes my new game, even though I have big improvements to be made.
Also, at least I was able to work some things out for myself during this visit. Such as the fact that I am going to go get Katie Finnegan no matter what it takes.
ONE WEEK LATER
This is it. Madilyn’s big day. Her wedding day, where she marries the founding partner of the firm, Asher Marks. And its Valentine’s Day as well.
As the officiant pronounces Madilyn and Asher as man and wife and announces them as Mr. and Mrs. Asher Marks, all of their many guests, including me, clap and whistle and blow bubbles. They walk down the aisle, Madilyn looking exuberant and Asher looking proud.
I’m happy for them. Even though I would never, ever, ever get married, it’s what they want, so good for them. And they sure do know how to throw a party.
As the guests are ushered to the reception, Ruby and I take in the wonder that is a fancy schmancy wedding thrown by very rich people.
I say hello to my boss Jim Reed and look around for Madilyn so I can properly congratulate her. I can’t find her. I’m sure she and Asher have snuck off somewhere to take pictures— and to do other not so top secret things, knowing those two.
I can’t get over what a big, beautifully decorated ballroom they’ve rented in the resort for all of their wedding guests to celebrate with them. And I just so happen to notice Damien Hudson talking to Ron Sanchez, Asher’s best man.
Immediately my heart starts to race and my panties feel damp. I swallow, hard, telling myself not to have any visible reaction.
But Ruby still notices.
“Katie, Katie, Katie,” she says. “I thought you were over him. At least that’s what you’ve been spending the last two weeks telling me every time we’re on a break in the filing room.”
“I know,” I tell her, mortified that I can so easily flip flop.
But my heart is doing somersaults and cartwheels that my head can’t keep up with.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, squeezing my hand. “I know exactly how it is.”
Shit.
I’m so fucked.
Eventually Asher and Madilyn emerge and are announced again as they make their grand entrance into the ballroom. There are toasts, speeches and congratulatory remarks throughout a dinner that actually tastes pretty good, for catered wedding food.
There is Asher and Madilyn’s first dance, where they look into each other’s eyes with sickenly sweet devotion and love. And then the real party gets started.
“Congratulations,” I tell Madilyn when I’m finally able to make my way over to her. Ruby hugs her as well.
“Thanks, ladies,” she says, smiling at all of us. “This is the first time I’ve been able to relax since everything started earlier today. I never knew that getting married could be such a stressful event.”
Just wait until you’ve been married a few years, I feel like telling her. From what I’ve seen first hand, after the honeymoon and the wedded bliss wears off, there’s nothing left but stress and fibromyalgia.
Of course, I don’t say it out loud. Not even to Ruby. A wedding is neither the time nor the place for my cynicism.
I wish I weren’t so skeptical but I have seen what happens after people get married. I grew up with it. And I have no idea why people even believe in love, if they have ever seen the reality of a committed relationship up close.
But this isn’t about my thoughts and feelings about marriage. This is about Madilyn and her wedding day. So, I knock back the glass of champagne she hands me— apparently having a lot of money can buy a wedding reception where they don’t card guests— and say, “Here’s to the best day of your life!” with genuine (if not a bit ironic) sincerity.
“Help me celebrate, ladies,” Madilyn says, as the DJ begins playing the Cupid Shuffle.
Ruby and I hit the dance floor with her, going “to the left, to the left, to the right, to the right, to the right,” kicking and shuffling and walking by ourselves, just like everyone is supposed to do at a wedding reception.
Suddenly I see a tall, formidable creature on the dance floor. The only guy among a sea of ladies. It’s Damien, of course. And everyone except for me seems to love that he’s joined us for the Cupid Shuffle.
Some of Madilyn’s fellow associates, which she jokingly refers to as “The Barbies” are smiling and batting their eyelashes as Damien.
“Look at those shameless hussies,” I say to Ruby, not even trying to hide my annoyance.
Damien’s only looking at me though: getting down and doing his dance and singing “now come on, baby, kick” right in my direction. I have to pretend I’m having as much fun as everyone else so I smile while I shimmy and shake. And then I have to admit to myself that I actually am having fun.
“Yeah, Madilyn, why’d you invite the Barbies?” Ruby demands, as the three of us dance side by side in a line.
“Shhhh,” she says, laughing. “They obviously don’t know I call them that.”
“You’re not exactly fond of them,” Ruby says, referencing Madilyn’s early days at the firm and when she first started dating Asher. Apparently, those other new associates were quite mean to her but she got them in the end— by getting Asher.
“Oh, you know,” Madilyn says, shrugging. “Happiness is the best revenge, and stuff like that.”
“You just want to rub it in their faces and make them jealous, don’t you?” Ruby asks.
Madilyn laughs and says, “Well yeah, that too.”
“Well good job,” I tell her. “This is a lovely wedding. And very extravagant too. I’m sure they’re going to go home alone and cry into their pillows tonight about their lack of good fortune.”
“They’ll always have ‘Ken’ to keep them company,” Ruby says, nodding towards the second guy to join the dance floor: an associate who follows the “Barbies” around unsuccessfully attempting to date and/or sleep with them.
We laugh and then the music stops.
“Now it’s time for a slow dance,” the DJ announces. “So, grab your special someone and hold them tight, and hope and pray that your relationship turns out as nice as the bride’s and groom’s has.”
Madilyn and Ruby split off from me, each heading to their special man. And there I am in the middle of the dance floor with Damien Hudson.
“Well hello, Katie,” he says, extending his arm to me. “May I have this dance?”
Of course, it’s Dirty Dancing. “Time of My Life.” Only Madilyn would choose something so cheesy yet so perfect for the slow dance song at her wedding reception.
“I suppose so,” I tell him, still not willing to completely let down my guard.
But I have to admit I’m glad he asked me. I want him in a way that’s too strong to deny. And I can tell the same is true for him.
He takes me in his arms and looks down at me as if I’m the only woman in the entire ballroom. He smells like the outdoors— probably because that’s where the wedding ceremony was held, but also because he always seems to smell fresh and musty at the same time. It’s a sexy, masculine, powerful scent that’s uniquely his.
He holds me close and I can feel the Barbies’ eyes on us— it feels like everyone’s eyes are on us although I’m sure most people are watching Asher and Madilyn— and I don’t even care.
It feels right.
“Go to dinner with me,” Damien says, as I lift my head off his strong chest to look up into his eyes.
“I don’t exactly date,” I tell him.
Do you have any idea who my father is? I think about saying, but I don’t.
“Neither do I,” he says. “But I bet you we’d have fun.”
“You do, do you?”
“Just get it over with already,” Ruby groans, swooping in to make fun of us. “I double dare you guys to go out.”
She winks at me— as if to say “you’re welcome”— and then she and Ron glide back over towards the outskirts of the dance floor, leaving Damien and I alone once again.
“Well, since Ruby is daring us,” Damien says.
“And she’s your favorite person in the whole world,” I tell him.
He laughs.
“All right, fine,” he says. “Since that’s what you’re so concerned about. If you go on a date with me I promise you I won’t get Ruby fired.”
“Oh whatever,” I tell him. “You don’t have that sort of power. She’s dating one of the bosses and she’s friends with the other bosses’ new wife.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “You want me to like her, so I’ll like her. I won’t try to get her fired or do anything crazy against her. As long, as she doesn’t hack my stuff, I’ll forget about it. It’s in the past. Just go to dinner with me.”
“Fine,” I tell him, unable to hold up against his constant demands. I wanted to do it the first time he mentioned it, though. I just didn’t want to look like a pushover. “But that’s it. Just dinner. Just once.”
“Exactly,” he says, his hands tracing my back through my sheer dress, his lips grazing the tip of my ear in a way that makes me want more. “It’s just a bet. We’re doing it because Ruby dared us to. And that will be it.”
“That will be it,” I agree, as the song ends and we’ll left staring at each other, each daring the other to be the first one to let go.
Finally, I step away, just so I don’t become office gossip. But I wonder how long he would have held me if I hadn’t moved away from him first.